The Traveler
by winter2012
Summary: For his 30th birthday, thrill-seeker Brock Bayless decides to travel through South America. Everything goes fine until he reaches an unknown part of the continent – a nameless village hidden deep within the wilderness. Once there, Brock quickly realizes how unwelcome outsiders are, having to fight for his life immediately after approaching a farmer to inquire about using the phone.


The Traveler

By

D.J. Stephens

Meet Brock Bayless, about six feet in height, one-hundred and eighty pounds, blond hair, hazel eyes with the build of an Olympic track star. He is an American celebrating his 30th birthday by traveling all over South America. At the moment he has his right thumb out standing on the side of a dirt country road looking to hitch a ride. A Ford pick-up truck stops in front of Brock. Driving the truck is a short Hispanic man with long, black hair, a smooth and hairless face and dark brown skin. The man reminds Brock of the Mexicans that live in his apartment building back in Texas.

"You need a lift, cowboy?" asked the man.

"As a matter of fact, I do." Replied Brock.

The man waves him in. Brock picks up his black backpack and brown duffle bag and hops into the passenger's seat. The truck takes off down the dirt road.

"The name's Pedro," said the man. "Where are you from?"

"America," Replied Brock. "And the name is Brock Bayless."

"No…" said Pedro. "I meant from where in America."

"Victoria, Texas." Replied Brock.

"Oh, Texas, huh," said Pedro. "I have a cousin that lives in Houston."

"Oh, really?" asked Brock.

"Yeah," replied Pedro. "That's a good city."

"Sure is." Added Brock.

"Why are you here, amigo?" asked Pedro.

"I'm just traveling through for some adventure." Replied Brock.

Pedro begins to laugh. Brock looks over at him.

"What's so funny?" asked Brock.

1

"That is what the last American I picked up said," replied Pedro. "And the police still haven't found his body."

Pedro continues laughing. This makes Brock both a little nervous and angry.

"How is that funny?" asked Brock.

"I'm only kidding, cowboy," replied Pedro. "Just relax. Besides, no American traveler ever went missing as far as I know. However, that could all change today."

Pedro begins to laugh again. Brock becomes even more flustered by Pedro's apparent ignorance and strange sense of humor.

"You on cocaine or something?" asked Brock.

Pedro turns to Brock and looks him directly in the eye with a big smile upon his face.

"As a matter of fact, I am." Replied Pedro.

He falls into laughter once more. Suddenly, a tree falls over into the middle of the road. Pedro slams on the breaks, barely avoiding an accident.

"Oh, Jesus!" shouts a scared Brock.

Pedro chuckles with a slight smile.

"We almost met our maker." Said Pedro, jokingly.

Brock shoots him a sour facial expression. This makes Pedro's smile disappear instantly. The black tip of a sniper rifle pokes out of the bushes on the driver's side of the truck. There is a target aimed at Pedro's head.

"That was too close for me." Said Brock, removing himself and his things from the truck.

He slams the door shut and starts off back down the road. Pedro pokes his head out of the window.

"Where are you going, cowboy," asked Pedro. "I was only kidding."

_He's a lunatic_ thought Brock walking away. Just then a bullet strikes Pedro in the left side of his head. His body slouches over into the passengers' seat. Brock swiftly dives on to the right side of the truck for cover. He looks around to see if he could spot where the shot came from. He sees nothing.

2

Brock peeks into the truck through the right side window, and sees Pedro's lifeless body slumped over with half of his head gone.

"What the hell?" said a shocked Brock.

Brock, leaving his bags behind, flees from the area by hopping over the fallen tree and making a mad dash further down the dirt road. Pedro's body is left collecting fleas in the truck. Brock does not have any idea as to where he is going, but he cannot seem to get far enough away. After about nine minutes he reaches a large concrete gate. Eager for help, he pushes one side of the gate open with one hand. Inside is a small unknown, rundown village.

The houses, left to right, are very small, with only a couple of them having a second story. They all had one chimney, a shingled rooftop and a red-bricked exterior. Brock spots a short, Latin farmer placing hay onto a two-wheeled wagon. Brock walks over to the farmer. The farmer has short, black hair and brown, sun-burned skin.

"Excuse me sir," said Brock. "Do you speak English?"

The farmer slowly turns his head slightly, and then he slowly turns it back. _What's your problem _thought Brock.

"You shouldn't have come here, American." Said the farmer.

A serious look comes across Brock's face.

"Look," said Brock. "A man was shot dead in his truck a few miles back. Do you have a phone I can use to call the police?"

The farmer, seemingly frustrated by Brock, drops the hay from his hands. His back is still turned to Brock.

"Sir?" said Brock.

"No outsiders allowed!" shouted the enraged farmer.

Brock squints back in surprise. The farmer turns to him with an angry look upon his face. The farmer's eyes are cold and merciless.

"Sir, are you okay?" asked a frightened Brock.

"You will never leave here alive, American." Said the farmer in a disturbing tone of voice.

"You know what," said Brock slowly backing away. "Just forget the phone – never mind."

3

Brock turns around only to see a large man, wearing a brown sack over his head with two holes in the front, guarding the village gate. In his hands is a pull-start chainsaw. Brock does not know what to make of this. He turns back around to see that the farmer now has an ax in his right hand. Brock now knows that he is in mortal danger.

"I think I'll see myself out." Said Brock.

He turns toward the large man again who starts up the chainsaw. Brock's eyes pop out of his head. The large man starts to take small steps toward him with the running chainsaw. Brock is slowly backing away. His heart is racing.

"Is there a back way out of here?" asked a frightened Brock.

Brock turns around to run, but narrowly avoids being beheaded by the ax-wielding farmer. Brock runs into the house to his left with the door wide open. Once inside, he slams the door shut behind him. He quickly barricades the door by pushing a bookshelf in front of it.

"I bet you don't even have a phone!" shouts Brock.

The door is quickly dismantled by the large chainsaw-wielding man. The window to the right is busted out by three villagers, each with pitch forks, who are climbing inside the house.

"What's wrong with you people?" asked a terrified Brock.

Brock notices the staircase behind him. He then runs upstairs where more hostile villagers are trying to get into the house through the second window. And a third window is busted out by a ladder being thrown against it. Above a blood-stained bed sits a double-barrel shotgun. Brock swiftly grabs it and checks it for ammunition. And sure enough, there was ammunition inside.

_Thank God_ thought Brock cocking the shotgun. At the second window the villagers are pounding on it hard. Brock aims the gun at them and fires – busting out the window and knocking those villagers off of the ledge. At the third window a male villager tries to enter from the ladder. So Brock cocks the gun, aims and shoots the villager off of the ladder. The villager falls onto a group of villagers down below waiting to climb up.

Brock quickly knocks the ladder away from the window. He turns to the staircase to see that the large chainsaw-wielding man, with the running chainsaw, is coming up. Brock cocks the shotgun and aims it at the top of the stairs. Once the large man reaches the top of the staircase, he is shot in the back. He falls backward, tumbling down the steps rolling over the villagers behind him. _Jesus Christ_ thought Brock.

4

Brock notices some shotgun shells at the other end of the room. He rushes over and grabs them. The ladder at the third window is back up. Another villager tries to climb in. Brock cocks the shotgun and shoots the villager off of the ladder. This time the villager takes the ladder down with him.

A group of villagers are coming up the stairs. Brock runs toward the third window and jumps out. He nose-dives into a group of villagers, knocking them all off of their feet. Brock gets to his feet.

"Now that's what I call a strike." Said Brock jokingly.

A villager attempts to rush him from behind, but with the butt of the shotgun Brock nails the villager in the face. Brock turns around, cocks the gun, puts it up to the villager's forehead and blows the top-half of the villager's head clean off. Brock notices that the entire village is running towards him. The shotgun is out of ammunition, and there is no time to reload any. That is when a smoke grenade is thrown in between Brock and the villagers. The smoke puts up a barrier between Brock and the hostiles.

"Hey, you," said a hooded stranger from behind one of the houses. "Come with me – hurry!"

A desperate Brock, with the shotgun still in hand, runs over to the hooded stranger.

"Let's go." Said the hooded stranger.

And together the two ran into the woods. Moments later, Brock and the hooded stranger are taking shelter in an abandoned cabin by the river. The stranger removes the hood. It is a teenage boy of about fifteen with red hair, blue eyes, about five feet and nine inches, wearing a long, black robe. He is American.

"Who are you?" asked Brock.

The teen takes a seat at the wooden round table in the center of the cabin.

"Who are _you_?" asked the teen.

Brock becomes angry.

"I'm serious, kid," shouts Brock. "Who are you?"

"Okay, okay, calm down," Said the teen. "The name is Jake Miller."

5

Brock takes a seat at the round table across from Jake. He places the shotgun on top of the table. Jake's eyes are fixed on the weapon. And then his eyes meet directly with Brock's. Brock takes a deep breath.

"How old are you?" asked Brock.

"I'm fifteen." Replied Jake.

"Where are your parents?" asked Brock.

"Seven years ago," replied Jake. "They were killed by those very same villagers that were trying to off you. My parents loved traveling the world and ended up coming here, a remote part of South America. They decided to take me along with them for my 8th birthday. We ended up getting lost in the wilderness until we found this village. Everything about it – the people and how they dressed, the isolation and the overall creepy vibe – seemed off. I felt it in my gut. My parents came here asking one of the villagers for directions – and to use their phone – and that's when all hell broke loose. I watched those villagers beat and hacksaw my folks to death that day. I'll never forget it. Since then, I've been here, hiding where ever possible. I try to avoid running into those freaks as much as possible."

"What about your relatives," asked Brock? "Did any of them come looking for you?"

"No," replied Jake. "This place is too remote. No one ever found me. And no one ever will. The same goes for you, too."

"But I found you." Said Brock.

"No…I found you," said Jake. "You're lucky I did. Or else you would've been killed."

"Thank you." Said Brock.

"No need to thank me," said Jake. "Because I won't be of any help to you again."

"Why not," asked Brock. "Two heads are better than one."

"The only head I care about is mine." Replied Jake.

_You little idiot_ thought Brock.

"My name's Brock, by the way," said Brock. "Brock Bayless, and just like you, I'm an American."

Jake gets up from his seat and walks over to the window to peek out at the river.

6

Sitting on the river tied down to a tree is a rowboat. Next to Jake stands Brock.

"Is that your boat?" asked Brock.

"Yeah it is." Replied Jake.

"You ever use it?" asked Brock.

"It's how I get around without running into those freaks." Replied Jake.

"That's good," said Brock. "We can use it to get out of here."

Jake just gives Brock a sour look. That is when the sound of a running chainsaw alarms both of them. Brock goes to peek out of the window. He sees the entire village with weapons and lit torches fast approaching the cabin. _Damn it_ thought Brock. Brock turns around to see that Jake is gone.

And so is the shotgun. Unfortunately, Brock still had the shotgun shells.

"I don't believe this." Said Brock.

Brock quickly pushes a bookshelf in front of the locked door. He then pushes the round table in front of the bookshelf. And then he weighs the table down with a wooden rocking chair. The villagers are now pounding at the barricaded door. _This trip really blows _thought Brock beginning to panic.

"You're not leaving me, Jake!" shouts Brock.

Brock jumps through the side window and onto the grass. Once to his feet, he sees Jake in the rowboat headed upstream. Villagers rush to the side of the cabin. Brock starts to run upstream with the villagers' right behind him. At a different cabin upstream, behind a locked door, Jake is loading guns, ammo and snacks into a big, brown sack. Outside, there is shouting in Spanish.

Jake peeks out the front window to see villagers chasing Brock towards the cabin.

"No way." Said Jake.

Jake pushes a bookshelf in front of the door. Frightened, he grabs an AK-47 and curls up like a coward in the corner of the cabin. He wets himself. At the door, Brock is pounding for Jake to let him in. But Jake just ignores him.

"Come on, Jake," shouts Brock. "Let me in!"

7

"No way," shouts Jake. "Go away!"

Brock races around back. That is where he spots a wooden ladder leaning up against the cabin. He climbs up onto the roof. And then he knocks the ladder away. Jake can hear the footsteps on the roof, which he believes is the villagers.

"Oh, God." Said Jake.

The villagers are gathered in a huge mass out in front of the cabin. Some of them are now banging on the barricaded door. The two windows in front are boarded up by nails and wooden planks. They are banging on both windows hard. Out in front, one villager takes up a rocket launcher. He aims at the door, and then fires, blowing away the door and the makeshift barricade.

Villagers rush inside the cabin by the dozens. But Jake is gone. And left in his place is lit dynamite sticks. The entire cabin explodes, killing at least a couple dozen villagers inside and out. The explosion knocks Brock off of the roof, and into the grass behind the burning cabin.

Jake is already in his rowboat again, this time rowing even further upstream. With a little guilt about leaving Brock behind again, Jake turns to watch the burning cabin for a brief second. And then he turns his focus back to rowing in his boat. The cabin burns all night. And by morning, nothing but ashes and rubble remain. And the villagers have retreated.

Sitting on the grass is Brock, wondering how it is possible for him to still be alive. He wipes the tears from his face.

"Now how do I get out of here?" asked Brock.

He decides to walk upstream. Jake, now on the Amazon River, is asleep in the boat. He is covered with a filthy blanket. A huge splash scares him awake. He sits up and looks around. He sees nothing.

_Maybe it was nothing_ he thought. He lies back down and closes his eyes. That is when the boat is rammed from the bottom, tossing Jake overboard. He begins to scream for help. He does not know how to swim. Jake is splashing, trying to stay afloat.

Out of the woods comes running a shirtless Brock who dives right into the river. He swims as fast as he can to reach a drowning Jake. Brock gets within only a few feet of Jake, just to see him swallowed up whole by a giant, worm-like river monster. In total disbelief, Brock hurriedly starts to swim back to shore. He makes it to land safely. The quick river monster narrowly misses Brock's right leg with its wide, toothy mouth.

Brock stands in shock and horror as he stares out into the lake. _What was that_ he thought? 8

Brock, shakily and slowly, backs away from the river. He puts his shirt back on and begins to walk onward further upstream. By noon he is drenched in sweat after walking for hours in the blazing sun. His spirit is broken, and he now hates traveling. All he can think about is getting back home to Texas. After three days of straight walking, Brock finally reaches the city of San Juan, Puerto Rico.

He can barely stand as he approaches the US Embassy. He stumbles inside tired, hungry and thirsty. He looks around to see the employees staring at him. There are tears in his eyes.

"I want to go home." Said Brock.

Suddenly, he collapses onto the floor. Employees gather around him in a circle.

THE END

9


End file.
